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I'll Cure What Ails Ya

A warm wind is blowing through the holler this morning, carrying with it the faint scent of spring and the distant sound of sneezes erupting all around town.

This fresh mountain air will kill ya.

I've been dragging my butt all week, trying to get caught up here at The Asylum. It's not been easy, with the allergy medicine and the lack of any real sleep, due to Pupzilla's sudden 3 a.m. fascination with her squeaky toy. 23 hours a day, she forgets it exists. Between 3 and 4 she can't live without it. It's a rude awakening from a dead sleep in the middle of the night, "SQUEEEEAKY SQUEEEAKY. SQUEEEEAKY SQUEEAKY." Then she flops around in the floor, I assume to get a better grip on it.

From the dark, I plead with her, "Ayla.. go to sleep. It's not play time."

"SQUEAKY."

"Ayla.. go nini."

"SQUEAKY SQUEAKY."

"Dammit."

By then, I have to get up and pee, because my bladder has been conditioned like Pavlov's dog to wake up when it hears squeaky toys. And ya know, if I have to get up and pee, Pupzilla has to go outside too and she's not coming back in without a bribe of some kind. I'm very well trained that way. This means, if you're lucky enough to be my neighbor and you happen to be up between 3 and 4 a.m. you can look out your window and see me on the bottom step in a night shirt that barely covers my hoo-ha waving cheese, baloney or peanut butter covered bread around in the night like something crazy.

You will also witness a four month old pup looking at me like I'm not too bright and sort of smiling.

In case you're wondering, our plumbing is still borked to hell and back. I don't even care anymore. I'm flushing, washing clothes and running the dishwasher while it forms a giant pool of waste in my front yard. I'm waiting 'til it's a little deeper, then I'll put me some fancy benches around it and a sign that reads, "MAHALA'S POOL OF NATURAL HEALING." I'll charge tourists $5 a pop to bathe in my magical curative mud.